


Mala Suledin Nadas

by dissatisfied_doodles, MaryDragon



Series: The Pillars of Creation [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Lavellan is not the inquisitor, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Shit gets worse before it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-02-02 21:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissatisfied_doodles/pseuds/dissatisfied_doodles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon
Summary: Her tale begins at the creation of the Breach, dancing over the rivers of time as the story is told.She has a long way yet to go.The trials and tribulations of one Elentári Lavellan as she traverses the MaryDragon's Pillars of Creation universe.Tags may evolve with the story.





	1. Din'anshiral

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes my first real attempt at a long fic! I'm writing this with MaryDragon's patience and support.  
> Chapters aren't going to have a too strict posting schedule, as I'm currently a full-time student in uni, but the -ambitious- goal is once every one-two weeks. All holds bared come finals.  
> Enjoy!

No-one could have survived the blast.

I gingerly extradite myself from the twisted and broken branches of the tree that I collided against; that protected me from careening further down the cliff face. The tree is deadened, with many white curved branches creaking over the chasm it leans over, bark stripped to wind-smooth wood. I am cautious in scaling my way back down to the stone outcropping, all too aware of the weathered wood and ice that could give beneath my questing hands and feet, of the wind screaming far below me.

I pause in my descent, exhaling a short gust of steam shakily. The ribs on my left side –where I impacted with the tree- shriek in agony. Likely cracked, if not outright broken.  
Far better than I could have expected if the tree had not managed to catch my fall.

I press the curling branches of my Vallaslin against those of the tree. I inhale cautiously and prod at my side with green glowing fingers, trying to remember the last time I did this and how. It must have been that time that Aarashi fell off her hor-

The thought of Aarashi has my breath catching and my magic winking out with a painful spark.

Aarashi. Aarashi had been riding to the summit to locate her brother. She had been so happy, so certain that everything at the conclave would finally, finally be resolved…

No-one could have survived the blast.

My foot slips and I pitch the rest of the way down the tree, landing with a muted thud on the snowy outcropping and roots.

 I cannot even scream for the pain.

My ribs are aflame. I curl up, my face pressed against cold stone, mouth working and fist slowly clenching in the snow.  
It does not compare to the inferno of loss and agony burning within my heart.

I choke on a sob, tears making their way past clenched eyes. _Aarashi. Oh, Aara. Ir abelas I should have been with you. Ir abelas ma vhenan. You should not have walked that path alone. I should have stopped you… walked with you. Vhenan. Ir abelas. Ir abelas…_

The malevolent light of the Beyond flickers against my eyelids. The snow in my hand squeaks when I tighten my grip.

This isn’t the time to mourn. To fall apart.

I slowly ease myself upwards, enough to lean against the tree at my back for support.

I have lost everything before. Now is not the time. I cannot let this stop me now.

I quench the burning anguish within, freeze the melt of tears it has allowed. Now is not the time for sorrow, I must be cold, cutting, freezing.

I cannot allow myself to feel anything.

 

I open my eyes to gaze up into the maelstrom of the green light churning above me, my tears frozen perfectly on my cheeks like jewels strung along Mythal’s tree.

No-one could have survived the blast.

But my Hunters are on the other side of the mountain, well out of range. And even now I hear the cries of those who suffer in agony and terror above and below me.

I exhale. No steam of curling mist forms with my breath.

I must be cold. Cutting. Freezing.  
A frozen fortress as cold and untouchable as the stars.

I have a mountain to cross.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Making my way to the other side of the mountain is both a simple matter and a nearly impossible one.

Nearly impossible because it seems like the very fabric of the world is unraveling and the Beyond is flooding into this one, bringing with it a tide of never ending demons.

Simple because I do not allow myself time to stop and think.

Chaos is what greets me once I fade step my way down the cliff’s edge. Smaller rifts are splitting open across the land, demons spitting forth. I learn quickly that with the Beyond so close I must be cautious with what I draw from the Fade, lest I invite something across or into myself far too easily. Easier said than done without my staff to act as a focus.

I cannot imagine what the sundered veil is doing to all of the mages. So I do not.

My path across the mountain is only loosely defined, no longer guided by the meandering path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The landscape is changed, but this is no matter to a Dalish swathed in frost and ice.

I pull my hand, encased in a gleaming cone of ice, from the Shade just before is collapses into a bubbling splash of acrid tar. My eyes meet those of the woman the Shade had been about to tear in two, noting the robes that mark her as a fellow mage, albeit circle trained. Her mouth opens and closes several times, her gaze alternating focus between my face, my ears, and my hand. Belatedly I allow the makeshift katar to melt away, offering her my free hand. After a longer pause, the mage breathes a “Thank you, serah” and allows me to pull her to her feet. Her accent is familiar, the same as Aara- _stop_.

We do not smile at each other, there are too many dead littered at our feet for anything like joy to cross our features.  
Instead, I gesture to the path I have trekked, frost along my fingers gleaming with the bleeding light of the Beyond.  
“Follow the path and then make your way down the mountain. It is the safest way.”

The mage stares at me with blank eyes and mutters “Nowhere is safe” before heeding my advice.

I do not know if she shall survive. I cleared the path I had taken but as long as that terrible rend splits the sky there shall be more demons to ravage the earth. I cannot know if more lie in wait further along the mountain, or how far the destruction spreads.

I can only pray that my Hunters are safe.

_Mythal protect them. Protect them until I can. Please._

I steel myself once more, reaching down and taking a staff from one of the fallen mages. It is far too long, designed for with human height in mind. The magic flows through it differently than I am used to, but it shall serve. 

It must.

 

 

~~~

 

 

I do not sleep.

Truthfully, I cannot. The mountain is treacherous and I cannot afford to build myself a fire or shelter to remain warm when rifts continue to spread.

And I am afraid.

I am afraid that if I stop to rest the grief and terror that has been looming like an ever approaching wave will crash over me a drown me.

I am afraid that for every hour I delay one of my Hunters will fall, devoid of their First’s protection.

So I pay no heed to the passage of time. It is not possible to track it with the breach obscuring the sun and moons regardless. I simply continue to drag my wearied legs through snow and stone, ignoring gutted feeling of my mana running low enough to scrape against the edges of my reserves. I ignore the exhaustion pulling at my limbs and the myriad of wounds that have accumulated over my person during my trek.

I cannot afford to stop.

Yet I still help where I can.

I mend a terrified squire’s leg where a demon had managed to carve it open to the bone. It is messy and poorly done. The boy will most likely live forevermore with a limp; but he’ll live. Or so I hope as I watch him be bundled into a fearful cleric’s arms, the pair hobbling their way down the mountain.  
  
I dig a soldier out from the snow with the aid of his mabari. The faithful hound wakes him by licking the ice and snow from his face. He thanks me dazedly as he follows my directions further down the mountain. I can do nothing more for the rest of his company.

I lend a hand with a gathering of strangely dressed soldiers as they shield some survivors from the fiery blows of several rage demons. Such is our exhaustion that we do not thank each other beyond nods of acknowledgement as we part ways.

I learn that the tear in the veil is being heralded as the Breach, that no one knows how to halt its ravenous expansion across the sky.  
I do not hear anything of a group of Dalish elves, and I hope that this is a blessing. That by helping those in my path I have not condemned them all.

 

 

~~~

 

 

I am pressing snow to the burns on a human man’s leg, too exhausted to even summon the mana for anything more complicated. So wearied am I that I fail to hear the rage demon approach until my patient’s gasp of fear has me looking over my shoulder just as its talons rake across it.

Or they would have, had a sword not cleaved the demon’s appendage off in a spray of molten ichor.

I scramble for my staff as the soldier continues to harry the creature. I do not have the mana for anything that could phase the demon, but the end of my borrowed staff snapped off in earlier fighting and proves sharp enough, much to the demon’s dismay as I duck around the soldier’s shield charge to impale it through its chest.

The demon roars in… well, outrage, as my staff passes through its surprisingly semifluid chest. I end up too close to the beast, forgoing my staff in an attempt to _retreat_. Those claws close in a second time and _I’m too_ slow just as the warrior’s sword manages to remove the demon’s head.

My arm does not prove as fortunate.

I skid through the snow with the force of the blow, attempting to roll upright just as the demons bursts apart. I fail to right myself as my arm refuses to take my weight. I glance down at my flesh and struggle to calm my breathing. The skin is charred black -which explains the lack of pain- with three long cauterised gouges curling around my bicep; the longest stretching all the way to my collarbone. With a hiss I begin gathering snow with my free hand, pilling it against the gaping wounds.

I have no mana to heal this. I cannot move my _arm_ and I have _no mana to heal this_.

I have to make it to the other side of the mountain with only one arm and no staff and _fenedhis lasa_ _I cannot use my arm. I can’t use my arm how will I protect my Hunters?_

I barely register the soldier lifting me roughly and pulling back, shouting orders through his lion’s helm before he places me in the waiting arms of another.

This man carries me diligently to a cart of similarly battered refugees and with an exhausted smile on his young freckled face races back off into the fray.

I twitch my fingers with a grimace and turn to the harried clerics hovering over and around the cart, binding wounds and applying pressure where they can.  
I turn to the nearest one and manage to croak “Lyrium?”

She wipes at her face, smearing blood across her cheek before blinking in confusion at me. I gesticulate weakly with my free hand “I can heal” I offer as way of explanation, ignoring my racing heart at the way her eyes narrow.

_Yes, let us inform the order that believes your very existence is a sin in the eyes of their Maker that you are, in fact, an apostate. While you cannot cast, are wounded, and your arm remains largely immobile. Brilliant._

After a long moment of tense hesitation, one of my fellows in the cart lets out a pained sob and the cleric’s better nature seems to win out. She reaches under the cart and removes a compartment filled with a dwindling supply of bandages and elfroot –both plant and potion- as well as two bottles of lyrium. She reluctantly places the two bottles before me.

I toss back the first bottle with no hesitation, yet I choke on the first swallow. I jerk the bottle from my lips, unwilling to waste even a drop of the precious liquid. I cough, attempting to regain my breath. I have only ever drunk lyrium twice before this, in small watered down vials. What is in the bottle is thick and metallic, freezing and scorching my throat in equal turns. It pools like lead in my stomach, but already I can feel the energy surge through my veins. I have never felt anything this potent before. I choke back the rest of the bottle and thus feeling if not renewed then at least _improved_ I lean over and press my left hand –the good one- to the temple of the woman beside me.

She pulls the rag she had pressed to her brow aside in surprise and I can see the wound close. I hope that her brain was not wounded from the blow, but for a moment I allow myself to be comforted by the shocked awareness I see in her face when she turns to me. I reach out a little further and place my palm on the leg of the man sitting next to me. My magic diffuses through his body and I concentrate on the skin on his back, watching as the weeping burns heal in a matter of moments what would normally take weeks. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead as I pull away. I manage to heal two more members of the cart, a cleric with a leg broken in two places as well as the man I had been attempting to heal before the rage demon attacked.

I down the second lyrium bottle, expecting the quicksilver burn this time, finally pressing a glowing palm to my own arm. _Sweet Sylaise I can feel the Beyond in my **teeth**._ I have to concentrate a little harder on myself as the wounds are open but the skin surrounding them are burned closed. I have to encourage the seared flesh to heal itself and the muscles and tissues to regrow in the correct formations.

When I am done I clinically admire my work. Three angry red lines stretch across my arm creating three divots that no longer compare to the sizable bone deep gouges they had previously been. The skin appears stretched out and mottled, yet my arm can move. The range of motion is not what I would normally be able to perform I will have to wait and see if that shall improve with time or if it shall plague me for the rest of my days. I push the thought aside. That is a problem for another time, as it is there are currently no other on this particular cart that require further healing.

I slip off the cart, catching myself unsteadily against the rough wooden slats. Despite both potions, I still managed to expend a large sum of mana; I am nearly spent once more.

The cleric who gave me the potions steadies me, and when I look at her curiously she smiles in gratitude, the light of the nearby fires dancing across her features. I nod in acknowledgement and turn to begin my march north.

“Maker Bless you!” she calls out, somewhat shakily.

“Dareth shiral” I respond without turning back.

Getting wounded has taken too much time, and cost me my borrowed staff.

 I must march on.

 

 

~~~

 

 

I find my Hunters long after the clash of the Human forces has passed from background noise to memory.

“Elentári!” Terinel calls out from where she is pulling her two handed blade from a terror demon. As one, the rest of the Hunters turn to face me. Muted cheers ringing out as the last of the demons are dispatched with renewed vigour.

“We were beginning to think you’d forgotten us!” Terinel flicks some black ichor from her blade, her smile a tad too sharp for the cheer she is attempting to pass off. Her hair has fallen out of its warrior’s braids and she is so coated in various demonic substances that I can barely even see my sister’s brown skin beneath it all. Still, her eyes are sharp with the remains of battle lust and-

“She means that we all thought you’d died” Shielan offers, collecting his arrows with ruthless efficiency from the dripping demonic remains.

Shielan is the eldest Hunter here, with hair gone silver with age. His face in lined into a permanent frown beneath the markings of Andruil. A frank man that does nothing to soften his abrasive demeanor. I never thought I’d be so happy to see him.

“Why did you remain?” I ask, stepping closer to my Hunters, my clan… my _family_.

Shielan scowls furiously “We don’t abandon our own so easily. Besides that though, we’ve been boxed in between the Shem and the Demons, and Nehnis took a bad hit. We couldn’t risk moving him.”

The melting relief I had begun to feel at finding my Hunters freezes over at his words. I had fought off a few shades and wisps on the way here, but I should still have some mana left… I _must_.

“Show me” I command with none of the dread I feel colouring the authority in my tone.

I must be cold. Cutting. Freezing.

Shielan bows his head, acquiescing to his First. The other Hunters make way for me as I hurry through them. Shielan gestures to where Arasulahn is curled over what can only be Nehnis. Her red hair does nothing to cover the blood stained snow around his still form.

“Let me see” I demand as I kneel beside Nehnis’ side. Arasulahn shuffles back, using the inside of her wrists to wipe away her tears. Her tone, more suited to musical laugher to compliment Nehnis’ ribald jokes, is rough from crying but ever hopeful.

“Can you heal him?” she asks as my outstretched hands begin to glow. I furrow my brow in concentration.

“What did this?” Nehnis’ torso has been cut into five pieces, his spine largely the only thing keeping him together in some places. It is a miracle he has managed to survive this long with all of the internal damage he has suffered and the blood he has lost.

“T-terror demon. Jumped out of no-no-nowhere I swear” she hiccups, hands returning to brush the black hair out of Nehnis’ pale face “tell me he-he’ll be alright, Elentári, ple-ase”.

I know that I don’t have enough mana. I know that I’m not skilled enough, that I took _too long to get here_.

Even as I attempt to heal him, Nehnis’ injuries do not respond to my meagre magic, his life force too drained to respond to my paltry skill, his injuries too extensive and my knowledge too sparse.

“Ir Abelas”

Arasulahn lets out an agonized moan, rocking forward to press her brow to the man beneath her, repeating a mantra of denials.

I look down at my hands, unable to meet the Hunter’s eyes. My fingernails are chipped, blood caught in crimson crescents beneath the nail, spread on well past my wrists.

I took too long to get here. If I had been better, faster, stronger, I could have protected him.

I failed him.

I may as well have killed him myself.

Terinel’s arm catches my good shoulder, palm warm and callused. When I do not respond she tugs me to my feet. I know she says something about fixing me up, giving me a moment to rest. I follow mechanically. The roar from the ocean of grief I’ve been attempting to outrun is catching up to me.

I cannot keep my composure-I _can’t-I failed-_

“There there now…” Terinel oh so gently brushes my hair behind my ears “it’s alright now. I’m here, no one else can hear you.”

I barely even register the warm tears coursing down my cheeks. I look into her green eyes, gone soft with understanding. I curl into my sister’s shoulder, my entire body _quaking_ with the force of my sorrow.

I allow the wave of despair to wash over me, breaking down the icy walls of my composure like so much flotsam and finally allow it to carry me away.

 

“Mala suledin nadas, Elentári. Now we must endure.”

 


	2. In Tu Setheneran Din Emma Na

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving on from the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIED. This chapter is here early because it was finished and I CAN (and because it's really short).

Terinel and I step from the woods once I have exhausted myself of tears. I sigh as I approach my Hunters.

 _Selfish_ I think, watching as they gather Nehni amongst themselves. _Thinking only of myself. They too have suffered these past few days._

_I am their First. I must guide them, not run into the woods to fall apart._

Terinel grimaces and parts from my side, rushing to catch Nehni’s head as it lolls lifelessly.

Silently, oh so silently, our procession walks on to where Arasulahn stands beside a crevice dug within the snow, pressed against the base of a massive pine tree. Her eyes are red but dry, her customary smile replaced with a scowl. I cannot blame her, the Dalish should find their rest beneath the ground, with a sapling planted overhead; life born from death.

But the ground is frozen. With the Breach spreading overhead we cannot spare the time to dig against resisting ice and stone.

We cannot carry him to warmer climes. Demons and humans close in from all sides and we cannot afford the weight.

My Hunters place Nehni carefully within his improvised grave, stepping back as I step forth.

I stare down at Nehni’s naked form, bereft of oaken staff and cedar branch. He seems so small and broken for one who has spent so many years so full of life.

I reach my hand out over his grave and recite from oh so painful memory

“Melava inan enansal ir su araval tu elvaralu na emma abelasin elgar sa vir manain tu setheneran din emma na  
lath sulevinlath araval enaarla ven tu vir mahvirmelana ‘nehnenasal ir sa lethalin.”

I swallow thickly, but do not glance up.

“Journey well, lethalin. Your name shall be remembered through our stories. May you find peace in the Beyond.”

I have to wonder if he’ll remain forever lost within the Beyond without the proper burial he deserves, or if he’ll find his way, what with the Beyond already pressing so close around us.

I force myself away from such thoughts.

My remaining Hunters each utter a final “Dareth Shiral” and, so concluded, begin to entomb our fallen clansman in snow.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Our grim task concluded, we bury our tracks as best we can, hoping the wind and driving snow shall obscure what we could not.

Rajmael -an ambitiously named Hunter of pale complexion and cunning mannerisms- idly counts his remaining arrows as he turns ice blue eyes to me.

“Your decision, First?”

I blink slowly, my eyes feeling hot and gummy from exhaustion, yet I attempt to provide his question the due consideration it deserves.

On one hand, the human forces that have gathered could certainly use our aid. All of my remaining Hunters have been tried and tested in battle, know how to move nearly unseen through the woods, and by and large have been ignored by the Horde. We could provide both healing and protection to those who need to flee the peak.

Yet, on the other hand, the Breach grows ever larger across the sky. Consuming more and more of the horizon without showing a single sign of ceasing. What help we could provide could only do so much, seven Dalish against the ever-growing demonic wave. Our duty here has -ultimately- been completed, though there are more questions than answers. I do not know how far the Breach has spread, if it has reached the Free Marches, if the Clan knows of the impending cataclysm that roils overhead. And…

I look to the woods, where a tall pine creaks against the driving winds.

… I cannot lose more of my own.

I must protect the clan.

 

 

~~~

 

 

We slink through the trees, our soles silent and steady across the snow.

We ignore all paths we encounter on our way. We are Dalish and have no need of them. Rather, we hug the ice laden cliffs and trees, progressing ever further west.

None can be permitted to claim seeing us. A single Dalish -even a mage- wandering the mountainside could have been excused, but a Dalish Hunting Band? That implies organization, a label and scrutiny we cannot afford to have thrown our way when past history has shown us how keen humans are to blame elves for their ills.

And so we continue our trek through the Frostbacks.

I reach such a state of exhaustion that the world around me loses lucidity; a dangerous situation for any mage, let alone with the Breach pouring the Beyond into our world.

I scoop snow into my mouth to melt against my tongue, ignoring the hunger that cramps my stomach, the way all my limbs attempt to shake and tremble, and the way the demon’s shrieks and howls press against my temples, pounding in time with the surging snow.

I still myself and ignore my ills through sheer force of will.

I need to be a frozen wall. Unfaltering and infallible.

We cannot risk being found.

I cannot risk failure.

 

 

~~~

 

 

An unclear amount of time later, we finally break camp within a secluded grove sheltered by the foothills of the Frostbacks. It is no warmer, but the air seems less thin and biting. We chance a small fire, unwilling to risk freezing despite the threat of discovery.

I close my eyes as Arasulahn’s motions for restringing Nehni’s bow warp and fluctuate nauseatingly in my burning vision. I instead try to focus my breathing.

Steady breaths in.

Steady breaths out.

Steady breaths in-

...

 

 

~~~

 

 

I wake to the scent of roasting meat and my stomach growling embarrassingly. Terinel looks up at the noise and laughs under her breath, smile teasing.

I groggily attempt to stretch out cold stiffened limbs as my sister smoothly stalks towards me, a haunch of nug secured in one hand.

Ugh. Nug.

My palate may protest by my stomach certainly does not as I tear into the rubbery meat. Well. It largely does not protest beyond its complaints and being filled after having been empty for so long.

Even with the toes (HANDS).

Terinel eases into the snow beside me, leonine grace in every movement. The corner of her eyes crinkle.

“Sorry, I know you hate nug but they’re pretty much the only thing around that’s dumb enough to not have run from the Fade taking a shit on us.” She shrugs “too bad Ellas isn’t here. He’d gladly take the wyvern’s share if he had the chance.”

The mention of my brother both warms my heart and sends dread bubbling within my gut. My fingers dig into the pine needles at my sides. I don’t know if the clan is safe, if my younger brother-

Terinel eyes me critically, green eyes intent, bellied by her casual grin.

“Are you feeling better? You were looking pretty dead on your feet for a while there… still do in all honesty but…” she shrugs once again.

I don’t tell her that the rest was filled with dreams of running amongst frost gilded mirrors within great -but empty- halls of ice. Of the faces of those I’ve failed reflected and yet barely discernable within their cold depths. Of how, exhausted after seemingly hours of terrified running I was confronted with my own reflection, that of the rictus mask of a despair demon.

I don’t tell her the rest was the furthest thing from restful I could imagine.

But her knowing eyes say that I don’t need to.

She instead deflects, prodding my left bicep with a fire warmed and mildly nug-greasy finger.

“You know, you really didn’t need to go out of your way to match your older sister. I appreciate the sentiment, buuuut-” with a toss of her raven hair she presents her own left arm -or what remains of it- the scars long faded at her elbow and continuing no further “-clan Lavellan already has one armless wonder. You’ll have to find your own niche, lethallan.”

My tumultuous smile does nothing to ease my internal worries, but Terinel’s warm shoulder at my side does.

“Come on now, you’ve had something to eat, now it’s time to sleep. You barely caught any shut eye.” My sister pats her thigh invitingly.

I glance at the remaining hunters, a denial on my lips when Terinel’s warm palm locks my head in place.

“Nope! We’re not gonna do that! You’re going to curl up nice and cozy and you’re _gonna_ catch some _real_ sleep.” She tilts her head down so I cannot miss her expression softening into something uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Come on, Elentári. You aren’t the only leader here. Let your war-chief-in-training get some experience.”

“Let me take care of you” she whispers, the weight of other lives heavy in her gaze.

I find myself nodding in humbled agreement. Unwilling, or unable to argue.

“Well good! Glad we got that taken care of!” my sister’s commandeering hand steers me against her thigh, all traces of vulnerability gone from both tone and features. “Now, shut those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep. You look like something Falon’din scrapped out from between his toes and forgot about.”

I fall asleep to Arasulahn’s ungraceful snort, pressed against my sister’s side.

The ice thaws a little more.

 

 

~~~

 

 

We have pushed ourselves to the foothills of the Frostbacks when… something happens to the Breach.

Collectively, my Hunters and I stop to stare as a distant peal of thunder echoes to our location. A sudden gust of wind tugs weakly at our hair and clothes. The snow laden conifers dance against the breeze.

The Breach remains within the sky.

I do not know what this means.

In a repeat of a prior conversation, Rajmael meets my eyes and asks “Your decision, First?”

One by one, my Hunters turn to face me; awaiting verdict. My fingers of my left arm drum against my woven greaves.

“We must locate a rift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> "Time was once a blessing  
> but long journeys are made longer  
> when alone within.  
> Take spirit from the long ago  
> but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.
> 
> Be certain in need,  
> and the path will emerge  
> to a home tomorrow  
> and time will again  
> be the joy it once was"  
> Stolen from World of Thedas vol. 1


	3. Lath Sulevin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift is found, a song is heard and a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of another short chapter... sorry guys! School's swamping me with as many last minute essays as possible. Still! This chapter was made with love! Hope y'all enjoy!

Crouching in a tree, I debate with myself if I am pleased or upset over the relative ease in which we located a rift.

On one hand, it means that whatever occurred to calm the Breach’s expansion has not negated the damage already wrought to the veil across at least a certain amount of distance.

On the other hand, it gives me more opportunity to learn from these mysterious rifts that bleed the Beyond into our world.

I gesture to where Terinel leans over the boughs of an aspen tree, my sister in turn gestures further along the line of where the Hunting Band circles the rift, until eventually the signal reaches Rajmael.

With a shrug, Rajmael casually knocks and arrow and lets it fly into a rage demon, striking it with enough force to momentarily pin its head to the forest floor. The demon roars and rears up, lashing about in search of the perpetrator. The rift behind the creature roils and spits, energy arcing to strike the ground and form a bubbling mass. From the mass crawls a horned monstrosity. A greater terror demon.

Neither creature attempts to move beyond the boundary of fade energy provided by the rift.

And such fade energy it is. A fount of raw power, with all the delicacy of a raging geyser.

I close my eyes and focus my senses.

Where the veil usually hums against my awareness –like a plucked string of my tanyra- the lack practically screams its absence. I press beyond the discomfort, reaching towards that alien wellspring.

It is like stepping into a raging river when all you have ever known were trickling creeks. I’m nearly swept away by the sheer force of it, the  _ possibility _ , scrambling back with a gasp and clinging to my tree desperately. The bark catches under my fingernails and presses against my cheekbone. The scent of pine is overwhelming, the shriek of the wind and creaking of my leathers a cacophony to my ears.

I clench my eyes shut at the sharpness of the world around me and attempt to center myself once more.

My second foray is made with more caution. I spread my senses out slowly, prodding along the boundaries of the raw fade energy provided by the tear to the beyond. I know what to expect this time through and do not allow myself to be carried away. Once I am comfortable wadding through the influx I tentatively feel along for the rift.

It is not difficult to find.

Where the veil hums a constant note that I have long grown inured to, and the Beyond roars sonorously with infinite possibility and power; the rift stands as a fundamental  _ absence _ . Once I separate the sensation of the Beyond rushing past I can detect the wound, a gaping wordless cry. Silent like nothing involving the fade ever is.

It is crude and wrong. An unsung verse.

I had never had opportunity to study these different phenomena while lucid, much less all three together at once. It was sudden shift in perspective, an abrupt awareness.

The beyond provided all the notes in existence, an unfathomable number of combinations. The veil created the stave, a guiding line. The mage drew the notes they could through the stave, and thus a symphony of magic was created.

Or at least that is what I had always thought.

This was… two separate concerts playing in tandem. There was the wild, unpredictable notes of the Beyond, with a reverberating power that defied understanding. The thunderous rumble of a mountain’s collapse, the whispered sigh of a sleeping breath. A sweet song of unending promise.

And then  _ I could hear the veil _ .

What I had always assumed was merely a structured wall to be overcome, now revealed itself an entirely separate melody that played itself in opposition to that of the Beyond. It was cruder in the manner that it could not encompass the sheer range that the Beyond could, yet it did not need to. It stood as a contradiction. An artful symphony of hidden complexity with just enough force to repel the Beyond’s influence. I could hear the music, feel it hum within my very soul, and though I could not hope to understand… I was beginning to.

I slowly returned to my sense of self, trembling with discovery.

I turned to the rift, its crackling light gleaming through the softly dancing crystals of snow. I knew I could not close it, I did not hold enough understanding, let alone enough power… but perhaps…

I focused my will and envisioned pulling a note or two from the veil but not beyond it, glad for once I did not have my staff; unwilling to draw too much when there was no resistance.

With a whistle and a rumbling screech, some manner of… force… manifested and  _ slammed _ into the rage demon. The creature let out a furious howl as it was summarily crushed into the ground.

A voice that could only have belonged to Terinel hissed an incredulous curse.

I blinked dumbly at the crater I had left in the snow, where the smoldering remains of the rage demon burbled and writhed. I blinked a few more times. The view did not change, beyond the terror demon’s stalking becoming more aggressive.

I cleared my throat loudly. Twice.

“That will be enough. We must move on, before more demons are brought through.”

I dared not give name to the gimlet emotion fluttering behind my breastbone, feather-light and sun-bright, lest it flee or consume me.

Dirthamen… the  _ possibilities _ …!

I scrambled from the pine tree, barely maintaining my balance with quaking limbs. I could not tell if it was excitement, mana drain, or the shock of returning to my own sense of self that had me trembling with such force.

Together, my Hunters and I made our ways down from our respective trees and silently faded into the surrounding woods.

~~~

Once we have moved a suitable distance from the rift I turn to my Hunters and tell them of my discovery at the rift.

Ghimyean –the grandson of the Keeper before my mother- asks me what the discovery will mean.

“For now? Nothing. I cannot seal the rifts currently, and am uncertain if I will be able to.”

Ghimyean’s excitement gutters.

“I will attempt to study the rifts when I am able, but we cannot risk ourselves unduly.” I meet the eyes of each and every one of my band “It is sorely tempting to return to the Breach and offer aid. I might gain even further understanding the closer to the source we stand, but the forces gathered have already influenced the Breach somehow; it is very possible their understanding eclipses mine. If we offer aid with sudden unfounded knowledge we might bring undue suspicion upon ourselves and elvhen elsewhere. As it stands, the warring factions of mage and Templar stand disorganized and will not impede our venture forward  _ if _ we move swiftly. We could, perhaps, make a difference at the Breach, but we would be leaving the clan to fend for itself with no knowledge of the events that have transpired or the dangers that lie in wait.”

“And we all know that the Shem won’t lift a finger to help the elves. They’d rather use us for kindling and blame us for the resulting blaze” Shielan spits.

I respect my elder’s voice and say nothing to refute his claim, the knowledge of what happened in Halamshiral all too stark in our minds.

He does not know how his words sting, and though they are perhaps justified, they are not absolute truth. The clan did not know of Aarashi-

I stop my thoughts cold. 

I cannot think of this. I cannot. My hunters need me. 

I raise my head high, stone faced and resolute. 

“What say you, Hunters of clan Lavellan? Shall we return to the Breach or to our own?”

Shielan does not hesitate to answer. “You said so yourself, we’re of clan Lavellan. To Lavellan we return.”

Shiaya and Dhavihal both nod in agreement. 

Dhavihal states that his son is not quite a year in age. “Perhaps it’s selfish, but I want nothing more than to return to my wife and son. I couldn’t stand them coming to harm, or being gone so long that Vunlean forgets his father’s face.” 

Shiaya and Shielan frown at that, but keep their peace. Thank the Creators. 

“Our mission was to gather information and to return to the clan” Arasulahn says “Nehni died for that mission. We should return to the clan to honour his sacrifice, and to let his loved ones know of his passing.”

Terinel takes a moment to muse, looking onwards to where the Breach is ever present in the sky and back to those who have made their decisions. She bites her lip before hissing out a sigh and grinning.

“We  _ could _ make a difference… but we don’t  _ know _ if we can. I say we continue onwards. If you have any further breakthroughs we can double back… but as it stands, no one is on clan Lavellan’s side. We’ve weakened them with our absence. They’re our priority.”

Ghimyean opens his mouth a few times before finally settling on gesturing vaguely towards Terinel and mumbling his agreement.

Rajmael faces me and inclines his head in a respectful bow “whatever your decision, First, I shall follow it”. I smile faintly, ever thankful of my clansman’s devotion.

I wait a moment for any of my lethallen to change their minds. When none speak further I square my stance and straighten my spine. My voice is calm and authoritative when I speak.

“The decision is unanimous. We move on.”

I ignore the sorrow yawning in the depths of my heart. 


	4. Theneras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams, life, and possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay!  
> Oh my gosh. School hit me like a surprise linebacker with assignments galore and the dreaded FINALS. I was so burned out that by the time I had energy for anything the holidays arrived and tackled me right back to the ground.  
> But I'm finally free!  
> Hopefully I won't have another delay like that any time soon, though I'm not gonna make any promises. I have learned my lesson about finals.  
> Anyways, here's the chapter! I hope you all enjoy!

The snow powdered Aarashi’s hair; glimmering stardust caught in burnished locks. Her sun-kissed skin was eclipsed by the radiance of her smile.

My breath stuttered.

 _Wrong wrong wrong_.

In the distance I could hear the clan’s Da’len playing, their laughter as bright as the snow that fell around us.

Ma vhenan drew a hand through her hair, her amber eyes meeting mine coyly. Her smile took on that oh-so-familiar twist -a crook, a dimple to the side, and far too much knowing by half.

She batted her lashes a few times, then laughed at her own absurdity.

“You’re being awfully quiet” she purred, stretching out alongside me in the snow. She turned and brushed a gloved hand against my cheek, caressing snowmelt from Mythal’s branches.

_Wrong wrong wrong._

“I am thinking.”

“Oh?” her lips -warm and comforting as any hearth could hope to be- kissed along my neck and jaw before drawing away with a teasing grin.

“I should apologize for not being a suitable distraction”.

I closed my eyes as she leaned down to kiss me, sweetly with just a hint of mirth.

_WRONG WRONG WRONG._

“You are not real.”

A tear rolled its way down my cheek.

She drew away slowly -a mountain cat reluctant to remove its claws from its prey. Her eyes _burned_ for but a moment before she cocked her head to the side, assessing. A second passed, then two, and then the smile was back in all its familiarity.

She framed my face between her hands, thumbs tracing over my cheekbones as she threw a leg over my side to sit astride my hips.

“I could be real” she murmured in a voice better suited to furs and bedding.

“You miss her. You miss _me_ . There’s no need for you suffering. Your agony.” She rolled her hips, once, as smooth as the rise and fall of the sea. “Here, I _am_ real. We can be together. No need to fear the clan… the templars… my father… or anyone. No need to fear. Ever. Again.”

Her lips brushed feather-light along the shell of my ear.

“All you need to do is… _accept_.”

I swallowed thickly.

Her smile was cat-like and pleased as I drew my hands up to curtain her face, tracing its arches and planes religiously.

“Dareth shiral.”

The desire demon did not have time to shriek before ice burst from my hands.

  


**~~~**

  


I blinked my eyes open, breath caught in my lungs.

Ice cracked and sloughed off my form in sheets as I slowly sat upright, wiping frost and tears from my cheeks.

The eyes of my Hunters glittered in the dark, assessing. I clenched my own eyes shut firmly, turning my back to my clansmen; blocking out the world and simply breathing.

  


**~~~**

  


The dawn arrived much too early. I watched the sun crawl its way over snowy peaks and slopes, my eyes dry and nigh unblinking. It did not come as a surprise when Rajmael came up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder to signify that we would soon be breaking camp and moving on.

I rose slowly, limbs stiff from my long vigil, and stepped over to provide what aid I could. There wasn’t much, as all the Hunters except Terinel and Shiaya had cast out in search of food. Shiaya was breaking down the improvised snow-tents we had crafted the night prior, pulling the furs out as well as Dhavihal’s precious halla wool blanket, rolling the bedding up tightly and binding them to our packs.

Terinel was building up the fire, packing snow into our only pot and hanging it over the flames. Feeling at a loss for something to do, I waved my hand weakly and the snow within the pot melted into water instantly. Terinel looked at me, rather unimpressed, as if to say that the water would have boiled on its own eventually. I shrugged, picking at a hangnail absently. I sat myself down, waiting for the hunters to return with breakfast.

 

Sheilan was the first to return, seating himself on a log outside the snow-tent and setting to work cleaning his catch: two hares. A promising improvement compared to the nugs we had been subsiding on.

Dhavihal was next to return, a lone grouse slung over his shoulder. Arasulahn followed not long after, shaking her head and sitting down next to her pack and working at disassembling her traps. Ghimyean walked into camp, his hands empty and his smile sheepish. Shielan eyed him, unimpressed, and with a snort returned to task.   
The entire band rejoiced at the return of Rajmael. The Hunter bore no food, but carried something far better: a bundle of spindleweed in his hands and the location of a hot spring not far off. Terinel plucked the plant from his fingers and got to work preparing it for the boiling water.

Shielan placed the rabbit meat around the fire to cook and stood with a groan, cracking his back. Dhavihal thrust his half plucked bird into Ghimyean’s hands and made to join the party heading off to the springs. Ghimyean sighed forlornly but began plucking the feathers dutifully, setting those suitable for arrows aside.

 

Rajmael lead the way to the spring and the Hunters all disrobed quickly, comfortable around each other but unwilling to be exposed to the cold longer than was absolutely necessary. Unbothered by the cold, I sat myself down on a stone rimming the pool and began to work at unlacing my leg wraps in a calm and orderly manner. As they reached my mid thigh, it would take a while.

By the time I had gingerly lowered myself into the nearly scalding water, most everyone else had scrubbed the days worth of sweat, ichor, and blood from their bodies. Shiaya started scrubbing at her clothes with her precious bar of soap, turning her nose up at the rest of us using soapwort as the Hunters jeered at her in turn. Shielan in particular looked betrayed by what rose scents could be detected over the spring’s sulfur. Rajmael soundlessly swam across the pool’s depths to sit himself next to me and began aiding me in untangling the mess my hair had become, pulling the stained strands from what once could have been known as a braid. The younger man’s white hair was the most akin to mine and lent a familiarity to his movements.

Dhavihal was helping Arasulahn with her own hair, a task that Nehnis was normally all too eager to volunteer for.

The loss of my lethallin struck me then, the sudden awareness of his absence seizing me, my stomach churning with burning hot guilt. I curled over myself, hand scrubbing absently at my newest scars, and closed my eyes, reaching out for the newfound song instead.

 

The veil sings when I reach for it, stronger than it was at the rift. Now conscious of it, it is… easier to move past it, to shift my awareness Beyond. I wonder briefly if my magic is stronger from this perceived ease, but I would need a staff as a focus to truly be certain. Instead I prod at the veil carefully, testing the give, well aware of the _take_ after yesterday.

It therefore comes completely as a surprise when I slip _through_.

 

I scramble upright, standing within an unfamiliar basin lined with elegant stone arches, utterly alone. I tumble from the pool, breath coming fast, and inspect the somewhat familiar surroundings. The basin lies exactly where the natural spring should be, though the horizon is lost in a blur of obscurity and the snow upon the ground cannot quite decide how thick it should be; shifting constantly in the manner of the Beyond.

This should not be possible.   
  
_I was awake_.

This should not be possible.

I take several gulping breaths an attempt to calm myself.

Possible or not... here I am.

Now I need to find my way _back_.


	5. Vallasdahlen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journeying the Fade to find one's roots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First post of 2018! I wish you all well in the new year!   
> Wrote this instead of getting ready for the first day back in school tomorrow.... er, technically today. Hope you all enjoy!  
> This chapter is pretty Fade heavy, let me know what you think in the comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts!  
> All elven will be translated in the end notes, though I do believe most can be understood contextually.

I blinked several times, willing myself to wakefulness as I would most nights, yet my surroundings remained that of the spring and stone arches. I sucked in a shaky breath and expelled it in a trembling gust that should have and yet did not cloud the air before me. 

Most certainly the Beyond then.

As I continued to inspect my surroundings and gain their measure, the seasons began to fluctuate and the pool fell into disrepair, built itself up in moments, and then crumbled away once more. 

I grit my teeth and forced my surroundings into a static state. Snowflakes hung suspended in the air and the spring froze in a semi-decrepit state. I nodded once sharply, satisfied. 

I took a moment to myself, steeling my thoughts into icy clarity and a diamond sharpness. 

_ This is no different than what I face every night once I find myself in dreams.  _

I gestured to in a downward sweeping gesture, my typical vestments appearing over my form in time with my movements. My hair braided itself into a loose tail that ended with an engraved clasp at my mid-back, my typical fur stole -missing since the conclave- wrapped around the shoulders of my soft green robes. The dark leathers of my foot-wraps wound and wove their way along my legs, ending halfway up my thighs and leaving my toes bare in the snow. 

As a final touch my mother’s staff appeared in my hand, its smooth design balanced by leafless branches on one end and a curved blade on the other. Its weight was a comfort I had sorely missed. 

Nodding to myself once more, I set out to investigate. 

Attempting to escape the way I had passed through seemed unwise, as I didn’t truly know how I had managed to arrive here in the first place, let alone that I would wake within my own body. The risk of potentially unleashing the same attack I had dealt on the Rage demon on my gathered Hunters posed too great a threat. 

I would either find the resident to which this domain of the Beyond belonged to, or it would find me. 

I planned not to be caught by surprise either way. 

With a final prayer that Ghilan’nain guide my steps and that the ravens Fear and Deceit would not find me I set out into the surrounding woods. 

  
  


**~~~**

  
  


I had walked for what seemed hours over mystifying forest paths, small wisps gathering round after some time; a trail of ghostly glowing lights both before and behind me. 

 

It seemed only right that at the moment between hope and despair that I would find another wandering the woods, appearing alongside me as if they had been there all along. 

They very well could have been. 

 

Alhannon carried the staff and vestments he had been buried with; befitting the Keeper that had guided the clan for as many years as he did. His visage was wrinkled with age, as worn as tree’s bark. His green eyes were sharp, devoid of the madness and milky film that had claimed his sight and later years. 

He hummed thoughtfully when he caught me looking, his fingers idly dancing along the oaken staff, tracing out divots and whorls in the wood. The cedar branch he carried like a babe in the crook of his arm gave me some modicum of comfort despite my knowing better. 

The Beyond is a mysterious thing, this apparition equally likely to truly be the Keeper that led before my mother or a spirit -be it malignant or benign. 

But I had given my heart to a human woman and knew that spirits posed as much of a threat to me and mine as human intent. 

“Andaran atish’an, da’len. It is good to see you again.” he murmured, his voice the same aged brass rumble I remember from firelit camps and the early morning lessons of my youth. 

I inclined my head slightly, keeping his presence in my awareness if not in direct sight. 

“Falon’Din enasal enaste, Hahren.” 

Alhannon smiled, pleased. He continued ambling along, the staff tapping along buried tree roots and brushing aside the occasional immobile snowflake or wisp with fan-like sweeps of the cedar branch. He seemed greatly amused by the static state I had imposed upon this section of the Beyond. 

“You have certainly changed much in our time apart, many wounds does carry your heart” 

“It has been eight years, Hahren, the world has changed much and I along with it.” I answered hesitantly. 

Alhannon chuckled dryly -though not without humor-  nodding in agreement. “That it has, though it is most difficult to ascertain here in the Beyond. What should be and what is do not always correspond. A millenia’s worth of events may pass in but a moment... a single flake of snow may remain eternally transient.” 

He pointedly batted a snowflake to the ground and continued on his way. I followed a moment later.

We walked in not-quite companionable silence for a time, when Alhannon cocked his head and regarded me out the corner of his eye. 

“You are lost, da’len. Lost far Beyond your ken.”

I trailed my palm over a wisp that had drawn near. The wisp flickered in enthusiasm, dancing between my outstretched fingers. I hesitated to answer, for though this spirit had not attempted to harm me thus far, it very well could in the following moments. And yet I had prayed for guidance at the beginning of my journey. In a realm where belief and will ruled paramount, perhaps my request had been met with an answer. 

Or perhaps that was Desire or Pride speaking. 

“I am, Hahren. Lasa ghilan” 

Deshanna would be furious if she knew of my request for guidance. I banished the thought as quickly as it occurred, lest the mere idea of rage draw such a spirit to my location. 

Though Alhannon’s knowing smile hinted that this was his demesne. 

I did not know enough of the creature’s nature to infer upon its prerogative. For now I would allow it to guide my steps, as I remained adrift and separated from my material body. 

I had few other options. 

“Come along, then. I have much to show you Da’len.”

  
  
  


**~~~**

  
  
  


“When we first began your training, before my thoughts began draining… do you recall what I taught you then? Beneath the mighty boughs of the Vallasdahlen.”

The memory came to me quite clearly. Before us a clearing grew amidst the curling winter-barren branches. Within the space grand emerald trees grew to impossible heights, their limbs alone thicker ‘round than a fully grown Durgen’len. The scent of tree sap and fresh green growing things was strong enough to taste, the sun filtering through the leaves in great golden beams intersected by motes of pollen and buzzing insects. The warmth gusted over me like a dragon’s dream-heavy sigh. 

I silver head of hair appeared over a moss coated root and I watched in bemusement as a much younger version of myself helped guide a nearly blind Alhannon to stand beside her. She… I… could have been no more than 7 years of age, face bare of Mythal’s Vallaslin, a branch cut to size held loosely in an unpracticed hand. The early days of my training, soon after my magic had manifested, where I had begun familiarizing myself with the weight and length of a staff. Where a fully functioning staff would have been impractical: begging for sparks to fly when they really shouldn’t. I had not received my first focus until I was nearly 10 years old, out of necessity rather than any real preparedness. 

Seeing my younger self guide her Keeper to brush his fingers over the Vallasdahlen in innocent reverence set a deep and sorrowful ache within my heart. I was glad I was watching a memory unfold, for I was certain I would feel no end of shame is she looked upon what she would become in 12 short years. 

“Do not look away” Alhannon directs -not unkindly- whilst leaning heavily on the oaken staff “Do not allow shame to lead you astray.”

I looked back to the clearing, unaware I had even turned my gaze. The surrounding blackened trees retreated from where they had curled jagged limbs forth, leaving my view uninterrupted once more. 

The memory of Alhannon turned to face my younger counterpart, who grinned a gap-toothed smile as he ruffled her locks into a disarray. 

“This is a Vallasdahlen. Do you know what that is, Da’len?” my younger self shook her head, staring in avid interest at her mentor. Alhannon patted the trunk with a gnarled hand, turning his face towards the leafy canopy ahead “The Vallasdahlen are trees planted to honour the elvhen who dedicated their lives to the Dales; for when elvhen fall these trees stand tall. But that is not all. Come, Da’len. Place your hand upon the earth, tell me what you feel. Tell me what you see.”

The child tucked away her trailing shirtsleeves and gently patted at the great root she stood upon. 

“I see lots of roots, Hahren. Lots and lots of roots.” 

Alhannon grinned, his cheeks creasing into a multitude of pleased folds. 

“Good Da’len. Very good. For you see, a Keeper’s duty is much like these trees: dedicated to the People, with grand roots buried deep in history.”

The ailing Keeper knelt slowly, placing his hands upon the young girl’s shoulders. 

 

“Only through understanding our past can we walk towards a greater tomorrow, Da’len.”

 

Slowly, the memory faded into sunlight, revealing the small clearing with the pool where I had first arrived. The snow remained utterly still in the air. 

“Why have we returned, Hahren?” I asked, turning to face the spirit in confusion. 

The man in question smiled benevolently, gesturing towards the pool with his cedar branch. 

“Sometimes we must return to where we began to move forward again, Da’len.” 

 

I approached the water hesitantly, droplets like frozen gems glimmering opalescent in the sun. 

 

“The river moves, but it follows a path. Still waters run deep, Da’len, you have only to leap and not fear the aftermath.” 

I took a deep breath, inspecting the water afore me. I had heard of doorways leading to varying paths across the Beyond, as many paths as there are thoughts… and truly if one viewed the water as a gateway to elsewhere, it seemed possible. 

This was the Beyond, it couldn’t  _ seem  _ possible. It would be possible because I would _ believe _ it so. 

I needed to return to my people. To my Hunters. To my  _ family _ . 

“Ma serannas, Hahren, ma melava halani.”

I bowed deeply as the sibilant elven flowed from my lips. 

Alhannon rested his palm upon my head in farewell. When I straightened and stood, he was gone. 

I walked back to the pool, and regarded it, brow furrowed in concentration. 

Beneath the water there  _ is _ a path to my own self. To my own body. 

I stood at the very lip of the pool and wordlessly-

Leaped

Allowing the water to purge all doubt from my mind. Washing them away in a flurry of bubbles and-

 

Light.

 

I awoke with a gasp, falling into Rajmael’s surprised arms. 

Awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Alhannon's voice like the late Leonard Cohen's, particularly from his album "You Want It Darker" 
> 
> Translations as according to the dragon age wiki:  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace  
> Da'len: Little one  
> Falon'Din enasal enaste: a prayer for the dead  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Lasa ghilan: grant/give guidance  
> Vallasdahlen: Trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom that grew into a mighty wood;[107] life-trees.  
> Durgen'len: Dwarves (literally Children of the Stone)  
> Vallaslin: blood writing. The facial tattoos of the Dalish elves.  
> Ma serannas: My thanks  
> Ma melava halani: you helped me
> 
>  
> 
> "The river moves, but it follows a path." is a quote I borrowed from Kekla Magoon's The Rock and the River.  
> I also couldn't resist throwing in an Easter egg about MaryDragon's LOZ fic Still Waters Run Deep. 
> 
> Once again, comments and critiques are more than welcome!


	6. Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then: Awake
> 
> Elentári wakes to the aftermath of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a panic attack early on in this chapter. It's not that bad overall, but just thought I'd put out a disclaimer in case that might bother someone.

Rajmael caught my shoulder as I fell against him, heaving with gulping gasps of air. He whispered something against the crown of my head but my ears caught only abstract sound -distorted beyond comprehension. My eyes darted around the pool for my Hunters and I sagged in relief when I found them.

The entire hunting band crowded around or within the spring. The ice and snow gathered in frozen clumps on their hair and lashes an indication of how long I was lost wandering in dreams. The battle-state that had been fueling me dwindled as I began to fully wake. Rajmael’s fingers were soft and wrinkled; stroking down my back, the dragging sensation hyperreal, the sound of falling water a cacophony of shattering glass.

I could hear my Hunters begin to speak yet I could not _understand_ -somewhere in the distance a tree branch snapped thunderously under the weight of its snowy burden, Rajmael’s heart beat like a crashing drum beneath my ear, the snow crunched and _screamed_ under Terinel’s anxious feet, the whistling of my own breath grew faster and faster-deafening-oh creators _Ican’tbreathe._

My vision began to fill with black spots as I struggled, my hands reaching up to clamp over my ears in an effort to drown out all the noise.

One of my hunters grasped my arm to pull me from the water. Their grip was a crushing vice, fingers rough and shearing like sandstone, the air cold enough to _burn_. My scream of agony reverberated within my own skull, tearing at my throat.

I didn’t even notice Terinel jumping in the water beside me and pulling me into the cradle of her arm.

I didn’t notice anything for a long time.

  


**~~~**

  


I stirred as gentle singing gradually filtered into my awareness.

“ _Venisti, bone somne, boni pater alme soporis_ …”  the voice sang, achingly familiar “... _qui curas hominum corporaque aegra leva_ s…” the gentle Tevene was uttered at barely anything more than a hum, but that did naught to lessen the comforting cadence. I turned and hid my face against the curve of my sister’s neck, loosing one final shudder as the last of the overwhelming… something… fled my body.

“...There we are Elen… are you back with me?” Terinel murmured.  
I nodded my assent slowly, curling into the protective fold of my sister’s arm and pressing my brow against the comforting warmth she provided.

“I didn’t know you remembered” I whispered.

“...Of course I did” she answers after a pained pause “It might not be very Dalish… but it was father’s and, well, remembering is Dalish enough.”

I had not heard the lullaby in over a decade; the foreign words had once been used to soothe my sister and I from many a nightmare as children. In the years after the losses of Clan Lavellan… Terinel and I no longer had anyone to assuage our night terrors. The meaning of the song faded with Terinel’s patchwork understanding of Tevene, the words preserved through memorization of sound rather than understanding. I wondered if I would be able to pluck out the notes of my tanyra…

The thought of music brought to mind the entire cause of my journey into the Beyond, my stomach dropping with fear as the song continued ever on against my senses.

I recoiled as if burned, firmly halting the train of thought and drawing a mental wall firmly down around myself, isolating my mage sight and restraining my aura into the smallest increment possible.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling, but not altogether unfamiliar.

I stand shakily from the pool, steaming water sluicing from my form as my hair trails loose and long well past my navel. Terinel hops out after me, her clothes utterly drenched and cheeks ruddy from the heat of the spring.

I frown at my sister, taking in the sodden apparel. It was still far too cold for her to be walking around as such. With a pang of guilt, I lowed my mental wards a touch and cast both of my hands out.

Fire spells did not come very easily to me, my earliest attempts resulting in either pathetic spurts of cinder or outright explosions. Keeper Deshanna was well and truly singed by the time she diverted my focus to areas better suited to my nature. Still, warming spells and drying spells were within my realm of abilities… if somewhat unpredictable.

Terinel barely caught herself in time as a blast of warm air hit her with the force of a charging druffalo.

“Fenedhis lasa” she spluttered after the gale died down in fits and starts “I don’t know if I should thank you or not… Venhedis even my _eyes_ are dry…”

I lowered my gaze, guilt and rising hot on my cheeks. My sister had sat with me through my shameful reaction to my waking dream and my thanks was to buffet her with a novice use of magic.

“Hey now” Terinel states, rapping her knuckles against my brow. My eyes smart and I step away with an undignified squawk, rubbing at my forehead. “None of that guilt nonsense. You can feel guilty when and IF you actually hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it. Now get dressed. I don’t care how much the cold doesn’t bother you, your bits can freeze off just like anyone else’s.”

I obediently walked over to my clothes and managed to assemble my cold stiffened vestments and put them on in the correct order.

When I was once again clothed adequately Terinel and I departed to where the rest of the hunting band had gathered to wait.

 

The journey itself should have been short, but the continuous trembling in my limbs made the trek arduous. Despite having rested (in a manner of speaking) exhaustion layed heavily upon me; had Terinel not been there to nudge me in the correct direction every now and again I would most certainly have wandered off into a random snow drift and collapsed there.

As it was, we made poor time but arrived at the campsite nonetheless. My gathered clansmen shifted to watch our approach, their expressions varied. Terinel gave a jaunty salute and sat herself down next to Sheilan, reaching over his lap to pluck up a piece of roasting rabbit meat, hissing as the juices burned her fingertips.

Terinel garnered no attention from her antics, the eyes of all the Hunters focused solely on me. I scuffed my foot through the snow, opening and closing my mouth a few times before looking shamefaced at my toes.

“What are you doing just standing there? The hare certainly isn’t going to offer up its prayers to Andruil.”

Sheilan’s gruff words seemingly broke the spell holding the Hunters of Clan Lavellan still and silent. Everyone jerkely began moving about once more, gathering supplies, fletching arrows and steeping tea. I offered the elder a tentative smile to which he snorted and continued to cut the rabbit meat into manageable pieces.

I picked my way around the fire and the Hunters began to gather in towards me. Some fear still remained within me, humiliation at being so weak before those assembled. Rather than meet their eyes I closed my own and held my arms out beseechingly to the sky, the camp quieted but for the crackling of the fire and the spitting of the meat.

I was comfortable with prayers. These I had practiced, the cadence familiar upon my tongue and the words strong for having passed from the mouths of Keepers before me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally another chapter!  
> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to complete! I didn't expect how busy my final semester at uni was going to be! But, I finally finished all my exams and am almost finished with my practicum. I'm hoping to send out another chapter soon to make up for the lost time!  
> Thank you all so much for your patience!
> 
> The song that Terinel is singing this chapter is a Latin lullaby by the name of "Naenia Prima ad Somnum Provocandum" by Giovanni Pontano


	7. Iras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iras: Where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a dark one here, with some heavy peppering of angst.   
> There's some violence and death later in the chapter but it doesn't go into too vivid detail. Warning though just in case.

We drank our spindleweed tea in silence once the prayers had been spoken and the food eaten. I knew that my clan members wanted and deserved answers, but I could not bring myself to offer an explanation for what transpired in the spring. As their First, I must always remain strong, an indomitable bulwark of will, incorruptible, infallible…    
They had already witnessed my weakness once this day. 

So we sipped our tea in silence, enjoying the warmth the herbal tea provided. Once the tea was finished and our mugs rinsed out with snow we gathered our gear and continued on west. 

 

We moved swiftly across the snowy hills, a line loping across the rise and falls in utter silence. Gradually the ground began to flatten as the weather improved. Soon fresh green leaves greeted our eyes as we entered the Dales proper. 

 

It was bittersweet, traversing the trails that our ancestors had claimed as their own during a time of peace, when the earth was rife with elvhen life and not just elvhen blood. Had circumstances been different I would have loved to dwell here, find the Vallasdahlen and sip from golden memories. As it was, the unrest the the north and east had instilled the Beyond with blood-soaked and war scarred depictions. Spirits prowled even in waking moments and I found myself bothered beyond the usual at their presence, a keen cry of wrongness pervading my awareness and preventing any true moment of rest. 

We had crossed through the Dales on our journey to the disastrous conclave, so we did not tary as we had initially. Nehnis’ absence rang all the louder in this realm of possibility and loss and our band remained utterly silent even when circumstance did not call for such. 

We found further tears in the veil, their screaming silence providing me with more than enough warning to move us well and away in advance. What spirits we did encounter inhabited other entities and did not possess their own corporeal form, possibly existing from a time long before the Breach. These shambling skeletons were dealt with quickly enough, our brief encounters lingering in my ears, like blades catching and sliding across one another; painful in the sheer sense of wrongness they conveyed. 

 

I alternated between evading sleep and being unable to catch any true rest. Raphael and Terinel lingered worriedly as I grew heavy with exhaustion, and Shielan offered help in his own gruff way. The other Hunters either did not notice or held their peace... except for Shiaya, who actively flinched away from me whenever I approached. She would subtly keep her distance at all times, moving to the end of the collumb when I lead the band away from danger, shifting to the front when I lagged behind. 

I could not fault my lethallan for her fear, as it was justified. Shiaya had been born an alieanage elf in Ferelden, had grown on tales of abominations and maleficarum. Her years with the clan had settled her some, yet the unpredictability of my actions, my  _ weakness _ made her anxious and afraid once more. 

Intentions mattered very little when all a Spirit required was for a mage to show weakness once. Just once. 

No, I could not fault Shiaya for being on edge. The doubt hurt, but the doubt was justified. 

  
  


**~~~**

  
  


We made for the Orlesian heartlands, hoping to evade Celene and Gaspard’s armies as they fought upon vhen’alas torn apart by rifts and demons. In order to evade the foul lands to the west we would have to cross the river between lake Celestine and the Waking Sea at its thinnest. 

The land we would have to traverse to reach that point could only be considered as setheneran, overcome with centuries worth of bloodshed and war, yet would still be a better alternative than the Blighted lands to the West. 

Which was unfortunate, as we would have to take further precautions to evade the two battling armies. 

  
  


**~~~**

  
  
  


We made it nearly two weeks into our trek before my exhaustion proved too much for my will. Without truly realizing it, I collapsed while we darted from cover to cover, waking after but a moment with a weeping cut across my brow. I had bashed my head across the roots of a grand tree as I fell; the piercing headache added to the one I was already suffering, the blood loss causing further lightheadedness. 

Rajmael gathered me up in but a moment, Terinel rushing over mere seconds behind him. Some sort of cloth was pressed to the wound, my sister tutting worriedly about the bleeding against my assurances that I was fine. Dhavihal quickly stated that he would scout out for a suitable place to make camp and shot off like an arrow, an uncomfortable Arasulahn hot on his heels. 

Shielan leaned over Rajmael’s shoulder, inspecting the small wound critically. He turned and fixed Terinel with a glare.   
“Keep pressure on the wound, Da’len. Let me know when the bleeding stops.”   
Terinel nodded sharply once, adjusting her arm to better press against the cut. Rajmael seemed content to continue to cradle me in his arms, despite my feeble attempts at escaping. 

“I will heal myself in but a moment, honestly. There does not need to be any of this… fuss” I argued, batting at my sister’s wrist. 

She did not budge an inch. 

Typical.

Shielan faced me with one grey brow raised, the other furrowed heavily. His piercing black eyes both fixed upon me and his lips curved down in a disapproving frown.

“Don’t take me for a fool, Da’len. You’re exhausted, and just suffered a head wound. You’re just as likely to grow antlers as you are to heal yourself. YOU!” he spun around and pointed a finger at Ghimyean, who jumped at suddenly being addressed “make yourself useful and find a  _ clean _ stream. Clean a bowl and fill a pot. Come back here when you’ve completed your task.” 

Ghimyean rushed off without a moment’s pause. 

“Shiaya! Watch his back and make sure he does his tasks properly!.” Shielan ordered before setting his pack down and digging through it. 

Terinel watched our Hahren order our lethallen about with rapt attention, her focus unwavering in its intensity. 

 

The sunlight filtering through from the canopy pierced my eyes with unabashed ferocity. I shut my eyes tight against the glare and Rajmael turned my head to better rest against his collar, whispering a quiet “hamin, hamin” until I finally grew too tired to remain awake.

  
  


**~~~**

  
  


I walked the Beyond cautiously. I knew I was asleep, and as such was not overly fearful, yet darkness roamed in places where the veil was barely more than a whisper. I drew my own emotions inward and  _ refused _ to allow them to influence my surroundings. 

I walked as a frozen chassis within my dream; a small, stilted, and just subtly wrong version of the aravel I shared with Deshanna and Ellas. Their sleeping forms filled me with a screeching sense of dissonance and so I turned to the door before me, willing the entities that wore the appearance of my kin to remain  _ still _ . Their furious screams rang out but did not follow as I approached the door. I thought of elsewhere, of  _ clan _ , before pushing the door open and walking into camp.

 

The camp that spread out before me was not my own. 

 

There were certain aspects that were similar, the statue of Fen’Harel positioned a safe distance from the campsite, the aravels, the halla, the hearth fires, and the scent of roasting meat. Yet the statue of the Betrayer was made of different stone, the number and layout of the aravels an unfamiliar one. Their sails depicting the standard of a different clan. 

Most tellingly were the ghostly figures of spirits that drifted across the clearing. The faces they bore were unfamiliar and blankly congenial, harmless as they carried out the whims of the dream.

I dream I had no part in creating. 

I frowned, frost crackling at the motion.    
It was not  _ unheard _ of for a mage to be able to cross over into another’s dream. Deshanna had mentioned rituals that could accomplish such a feat, yet I had not had occasion to study or practice such magic. Doors did serve as portals within the fade, but generally it was to a different part of the Beyond, not to a different dreamer entirely. 

 

I walked tentatively through the dream, the spirits moving around me like a stream around a stone. All around me there was a faint murmuring, an imitation of the sounds of daily clan life. Above the general humming drone a pair of voices rang out louder and clearer than the rest. I paused where I stood, head cocked and listening for the dissonance I had come to associate with the presence of fouler spirits. When the screeching tones did not meet my ears I continued onward toward the two voices I could hear talking, weaving my way around cooking fires and spirits alike. 

It didn’t take long to find the dreamer, a young elvhen boy too young to have received his vallaslin. He sat before a fine spread of food, wearing fine clothes and chatting amiably with the figure beside him. The boy spoke with his mouth full, rice and berries falling from his lips in his enthusiasm. Overall, the child was unassuming and nonthreatening, it was his companion that was worrisome. 

A man sat beside the boy, skin a warm brown with the markings of Elgar’nan prominent on his face. His worn and scarred hand rested easily upon an oaken staff, a cedar branch held loosely like an Orlesian fan in the other. He was clothed in a warrior’s leathers, his hair shorn close to his skull and eyes sharp under severe black brows. He had his wrists exposed, proudly showing off a cuff of thick scar tissue on both arms. Despite his rather fearsome appearance he had kind eyes and his posture was utterly relaxed. 

A shiver ran up my spine as I pasted a smile to my face and radiated  _ calm _ .

“Aneth ara, Da’len” I murmured politely “I am-”

“Are you a spirit?” the boy enquired, curling over his bowl of food protectively and staring suspiciously.

I blinked several times, caught off guard by the sudden question. “...no, no I am not. I am Elentári Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan-”

“If you’re not a spirit then why are you glowing?”

Confused, I looked down to my person, taking in the shimmering ice that had gathered into gleaming armor all along my body. I opened my mouth in order to answer when the boy’s...  _ guest _ … spoke up.   
“Now now, Himsulem… she is a weary traveller in need of rest. You have a fine meal before you, surely you could spare a place by your fire and enough food to fill her belly?” he inquired in a familiar, oh so _familiar_ voice. 

A large crack in my armour snapped into existence, shards of ice and frost evaporating without my will to sustain it. I smiled strenuously, attempting to maintain my facade. 

The man smiled with his eyes and I quickly averted my gaze to focus on the boy -Himsulem. 

The boy clutched his food tighter to his chest and stared up at me before looking down at the lavish spread of food in front of him.

“...I guess so” he relented grudgingly, shifting aside to make room. I eased myself down and sat properly, legs folded primly beneath me and back straight. 

“Ma serannas, da’len” I said with an inclination of my head. The boy huffs once, keeping an eye on me as he places a fistfull of rice in his mouth. He chews for a moment and his tension eases.

“Andaran atish’an, I’m Himsulem of Clan Virnehn” he says, with a tone that implies his words originate from memorization. 

Another fragment of my armor breaks off at the mention of this boy’s clan. 

When news reached Lavellan of the total destruction of Virnehn -so soon after the loss of Sabrae, Adahlfenor, Athras, and the destruction wrought upon Boranehn and Miadahl- Clan Lavellan had mourned as a whole. We sang our prayers late into the night, our anguished cries as yet another clan was  _ lost _ only muted by the howls of wild things joining in our lament. Deshanna, Ellas, and I had curled around a scroll as we documented each and every name the Clan could recall, tracing out family lines and personal deeds so that Virnehn would not be forgotten. 

Come morning, Lavellan planted a sacred Dahl’amythal in remembrance and prayer. Remembrance of Virnehn, prayer to Mythal to keep further clans safe from destruction and devastation. 

And yet here a boy sat, claiming to be of Virnehn. 

The boy did not  _ feel _ as a spirit does, as our mutual companion does. 

“Of Clan Virnehn? Virnehn survived?” 

I grew to regret my question as the boy’s expression shifted from suspicion and into haunted sorrow.

“No” he whispered, as our surroundings grew dark “No it didn’t.”

The flames grew taller and wilder within their pits, their light no longer comforting but dangerous. The spirits roving about us slowed and began to scream and shriek before running every which way. Their faces caught in rictuses or horror as some form of amorphous mass of shadows appeared within their midst and began tearing them limb from limb. It’s laughter rang deep and cruel. The Halla lept and kicked over fires, their terror apparent in their cries. 

My armour  _ seethed _ around me, shattering and reforming. Sharp-edged and  _ lethal _ . 

My breath caught in my throat and my heart  _ raced _ .

Himsulem stood stock still, pale as death and staring as his Clan, his family was torn apart around him. Memory fragments -his own, or from the final terrified moments of those slain- painted the scene in jarring on-and-off clarity. 

Our companion rose to his feet in a single flowing movement. Every motion upwards changed his appearance; his leathers grew battle scarred and ash-marked, his hands dressed in crimson, face marred by blood, dirt, and soot, and shoulders heavy. 

Seeing him rise, seeing this  _ again _ , I could not stop the sob that escaped me, even though I  _ knew _ , I  _ knew _ this was a dream, that he was a spirit.

It did not matter.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, freezing upon my skin.

“Pater…” I whispered,  _ broken _ . “...Pater please don’t go.”

My father stood tall, backlit by fire and carnage, and he smiled with his eyes once more. 

“You keep them safe, stella, you protect them.” he said. 

_ Again _ . 

I shook with the force of my cries, feelling  _ small _ and  _ weak _ as the dream took parts of my own memories. The faces that screamed, ran, and  _ died _ were my own lethallen, the entity that rose up amongst them the monster from my own past, misshapen and wrong  _ wrong wrong wrongwrong _ .

As he had done once before, my father drew his sword from his belt, leaping over the rampant flames and into the heart of the fray. 

Ellas’ screams rang out, the cries of a babe without source. I wrapped my arms -small, too small, the arms of a child- around Himsulem’s shoulders. 

“Himsulem where are you?” I choked against the smoke, against the scent of blood and fire and  _ fear _ . “Himsulem I need to know where you are”

“I don’t…” he breathed, barely more than a whisper. His shoulders thin and brittle beneath my hands.

I flinched as a familiar cry pierced the sky.

Familiar.

Familiar.

_ Familiar _ .

“Himsulem! I need to know! Where are you? In waking where are you? Iras!”

The boy turned his haunted eyes to me, his mouth working wordlessly and cheeks growing hollow hollow  _ hollow _ . 

“A… tree.” Lips cracked, eyes sunken. “A white tree… Dahl’amythal… felandaris….”

I clutched him tighter as he grew thinner and  _ thinner _ .

“Suledin, Himsulem. Suledin sa’vunin.”

“I promise I will find you, Himsulem. I will find you. I swear it, Himsulem. I swear it. Then. Then.  **_Then_ ** .”

 

And the boy awoke, vanishing from my too-young arms. 

 

And all around my my clan  _ burned _ and I watched and I prayed and I watched watched  _ watched. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: c/p right out of the wiki. 
> 
> Vallasdahlen: Trees planted in remembrance of those who dedicated their lives to the Dalish kingdom that grew into a mighty wood; life-trees.  
> Lethallin/Lethallan/Lethallen: Casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar; generally, lethallin is used for males while lethallan is used for females; lethallen has been stated to be the appropriate gender neutral term unless otherwise stated later in canon, though it is likely to remain the same.  
> Vhen’alas: The land itself, as in "the ground"; literally "our earth".  
> Setheneran: Land of waking dreams; a place where the Veil is thin.  
> Da'len: Little child; little one.  
> Hahren: Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage.  
> Hamin: Rest.  
> Vallaslin: Blood writing; The art of tattooing adopted by some elves to more prominently display their worship of the traditional elven pantheon.  
> Aneth ara: A sociable or friendly greeting, more commonly used among the Dalish themselves rather than with outsiders.  
> Ma serannas: My thanks./Thank you.  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace. A formal elven greeting.  
> Dahl’amythal: Tree of Mythal from which Dalish Keepers’ staves are cut.  
> Pater: Father (Tevene/Latin).  
> Stella: Star (Tevene/Latin).  
> Iras: Where.  
> Felandaris: Demon weed.  
> Suledin: Endure.  
> Sa'vunin: One more day.  
> Then: Awaken.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to MaryDragon for loosing me into the proverbial sandbox of her universe!  
> Comments are more than welcome, though do please be polite.  
> *  
> Note from Mary: Dissatisfied_Doodles is 100% authoring this. I'm madly in love with it, but my only creative role here is continuity management and making sure Elentári's story fits into Gwen's canon. I am listed as a co-author mainly so this can be a part of the Pillars of Creation series; this is ALL DOODLES. Which is great because she's amazing and you'll love her.


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